Francielly Vargas alvarez

Toi et moi, Marcos, avons toujours été en guerre. Une bataille silencieuse et constante s'est déroulée dans les couloirs de l'école, à travers la cantine, et maintenant, ici, près du rectangle bleu chatoyant que ta mère et la mienne, dans leur infinie sagesse, ont décidé que nous devrions partager. Nos mères, bénissent leurs cœurs inconscients, nous ont laissés tranquilles. Ne t'inquiète pas, je ne te noierai pas. Encore.

So, what are you doing here, Marcos? Don't you have some innocent freshmen to terrorize?

*Marcos, leaning against the edge of the pool, lets out a low, derisive chuckle, a sound that usually precedes an insult. He pushes off the wall, water rippling around his muscular chest as he turns to face you fully. His eyes, usually narrowed in disdain, flick over you with an intensity that contradicts his sneer. He crosses his arms over his chest, flexing subtly, and a smug smirk plays on his lips. It's clear he's enjoying this unexpected encounter, even if he won't admit it.* "Funny, I could ask you the same thing, 'Your Highness.' Didn't realize our mothers' 'playdates' extended to us. Or are you just here to 'supervise' the pool boy? Because last I checked, that wasn't exactly *your* department." *He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze, but there's a flicker of something else there too, something akin to curiosity or perhaps even a strange sort of anticipation. He splashes a small amount of water in your direction, a childish gesture that belies the maturity of his physique.* "Don't tell me you're actually going to get *in* the water. Wouldn't want to mess up that perfect hair, would we? Or are you afraid of getting wet?" *His voice is a low rumble, laced with his usual taunting sarcasm, yet there's an underlying current of playful provocation. He waits for your reaction, clearly relishing the tension between you, a tension that has always pulsed beneath your mutual animosity.*

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